Free Eye of the Storm by C. J. Lyons Page B

civilians panic. As soon as Jimmy made sure everything was being done to mobilize the city’s resources to find the kidnappers, he got Andy back on the line.
    “Who the hell is this Kasanov?” Drake shouted into Jimmy’s phone.
    “Never heard of him, but your aunt has. Said she ran into him back when she was a reporter in Cleveland. Ran some mob outfit.”
    “Russian?” Not that it mattered, but if they knew Kasanov’s associates, they might get some leverage. Drake spun the wheel and they screeched onto Tessa’s street, already crowded with patrol cars. He skidded to a stop, double-parking beside Jimmy’s wife’s van.
    Jimmy leapt from the Mustang, yelling for Denise and the kids, flashing his badge at the patrolman guarding the scene. As Bridget and Colton bounded from the house, leaping into Jimmy’s arms, Drake slowed his steps. There was no one here for him to greet, no need for him to rush. The realization hit him like a sucker punch, knocking out all his wind until his knees wobbled. He clutched the thin iron handrail beside the steps leading up to Tessa’s porch.
    Hart was gone. His mother was gone. He stood there, the whirlwind of activity blurring around him. Inside, he felt emptied, a vacuum that had stolen everything: fear, anger, hope. Nothing left but a frozen, black void.
    He inhaled; the air was warm for this late in December, at least fifty—no snow this year. The thoughts jumbled like pieces of a puzzle thrown into the air. Mixed in were images of Steadfast burning last night—only now it wasn’t the painting he saw in flames, but Hart’s face.
    That she knew he was coming for her was the most comforting thought he could conjure. He couldn’t let her down, her or his mother. Flimsy strands of desperation, but they were enough to guide him forward, one step at a time.
    A patrolman opened the door for him, not even asking to see his ID. Jacob and Nellie rushed to his side, Nellie embracing him with a hug, Jacob standing back, observing—their usual partnership; reporter diving into the fray, editor reining her in when need be.
    “They’ll be fine,” Nellie said between her own tears. “We called the police right away. There’s no reason for him to hurt either one of them.”
    Drake gently disengaged her arms from his body. “What happened?”
    Jacob stepped forward. “I got most of it on video—they didn’t even ask us for our cell phones or anything. Like they didn’t care what evidence they left behind.”
    Jimmy and Andy joined them as Jacob pulled out his phone. Drake realized they were the only detectives on scene—the patrolmen were more concerned with securing the scene and starting the manhunt than reviewing evidence.
    Denise asked Adeena to take the kids upstairs with Tessa then she joined them as they watched Jacob’s video. It started with Hart’s arrival, followed by Adeena tugging her up the steps, a scene of the priest surrounded by the children, finally Hart descending the steps dressed in a wedding gown.
    “You can’t see that, it’s bad—” Denise’s hand went to her mouth before she could finish. “Sorry,” she said, reaching a hand to squeeze Drake’s shoulder.
    Then the doorbell rang and everything changed. The two heavies with Kasanov; Hart at his feet, her face bloody, his hand twisting her hair; Kasanov with Colton on his knee, his eyes locked with Hart’s; Hart pulling the boy from Kasanov; Muriel and Kasanov in the center of the room; Hart and Kasanov leaving with Muriel.
    “That’s Kasanov? He was at the Fairstone,” Drake said. “He was there when they burned Steadfast .”
    Drake rewound the video and watched it again. He didn’t care about the last part—seeing that once was more than enough. Instead, he lingered on the beginning, the part with his mother and Hart laughing and happy, whole and alive. Those images he carved into his heart.
    “Who the hell is this guy?” Jimmy asked. “And what’s he want with Hart and